


keep all my love forever

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Ethan hasn't been home for two years, and also, the Beatles keep playing on the radio.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SPNxBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/gifts).



> Y'all know how it goes by now - started out as a drabble for Sanjana, ended up a full-fledged fic. Hope it gets you through derma and obg, babe - and through med school in general :p
> 
> I dunno if this qualifies as a Christmas fic seeing as it's almost two months early, but eh whatever.
> 
> Title from [P.S. I Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOk-YJjnsa8) by the Beatles.

For a moment Will wonders if it’s John Lennon’s birthday or something – or maybe Paul McCartney, or any one of the Beatles, who even knows – but then remembers it isn’t, because John Lennon sure as hell wasn’t born in December. Still, it’s got to be some Beatles-related occasion, because the radio won’t stop playing their songs.

Not that he minds, though. He’s always loved them, and there’s something to be said about sitting on his couch with a cup of coffee and a book, wearing one of Ethan’s sweaters and just lazing around while listening to the soft music from the radio.

Still, even then, that is a _lot_ of Beatles, especially considering it’s been freaking decades since the Beatles were huge enough to be constantly played on radio. If Will were a civilian, someone who _didn’t_ automatically look for patterns and inconsistencies and abnormalities in everything, he might not have paid it much mind at all. But, as fate would have it, he’s an analyst and a spy, and even subconsciously he’s always alert for that sort of thing.

Simply put, there is too much damn Beatles on the radio, on a day that doesn’t really commemorate anything Beatles-related.

Also, there is just one Beatles song playing, over and over, with two or three other songs in between to break the monotony, or to reduce suspicion, perhaps. The radio jockey is noticeably less talkative than usual, and anyway, hasn’t he already discussed mall Santas last week?

* * *

The Christmas tree in the corner looks sad and lonely, droopy almost, unadorned and dusty as it is. Will had taken it out and put it up in an uncharacteristic bout of nostalgia and unfounded hope, that maybe he won’t be alone come Christmas. He’d stared at it for almost ten minutes, and then asked himself _what the fuck are you thinking? Trees don’t bring people back_ , and just left it there, too tired to put it back. Now it stands there in the corner, stuck in limbo, because Will can’t bring himself to take it down, but also won’t decorate it.  


It’s still two weeks to Christmas, and Ethan’s absence is present in everything. Will almost buys him a present, before remembering he’s not there, and for a few moments he debates the issue with himself. Then he buys the present anyway; he’ll give it to Ethan if he comes back.

_When_ he comes back, he amends mentally. Ethan’s coming back; there is no conceivable alternative.

He keeps Ethan’s present separate from the rest of the pile, tucked away in a corner of his closet where he can see it but it won’t get in the way. He uses it as a way to remind himself that Ethan’s coming back, that eventually he’s going to get his present.

He tries his best not to wonder if Ethan got him something.

* * *

Nine months and twelve days after Ethan’s departure, Will finds himself going through a mental low, which have been more and more frequent the longer it gets without Ethan. He spends the whole day – Saturday – just lying on the couch, listlessly going through channels on the TV, not getting up for anything more urgent than food or the bathroom. His phone is turned off, and he can’t bring himself to care about turning it on just in case someone might need to contact him.  


(Later, when he turns it on, he finds two missed calls from an unknown number that he can’t dial back, and his heart sinks. What if it had been Ethan? Then he reminds himself that where he is, Ethan can’t call him.)

This isn’t the first low, but it’s by far the worst, and Will finds himself despairing for the first time since Ethan’s left, wondering how Ethan is and feeling helpless that he can’t find out. He’s not used to this, to large amounts of time passing by without contact, to one of them being in a place where they can’t get to the other at once. He’s spent too long by Ethan’s side now, doesn’t know what to do when it’s no longer there. He feels like the North Star has gone dark, which is a very dumb thought to have because he just has to look out at the night sky to find it, ever present and bright. And besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have a life without Ethan. He _does_. It’s just woefully incomplete, is all.

That night he tells himself, firmly, brooking no argument, _get your shit together, Brandt._ An hour later he texts Jane and Benji and makes lunch plans for the next day. Just to get his mind off things, and also because seeing them makes him feel less alone.

* * *

Eleven months and fourteen days after Ethan’s left, Will finds himself staring blankly at a picture of them in his phone. He can’t look directly at Ethan’s face, yet he can’t tear his eyes from it either – it feels, morbidly, as if he’s trying to memorize Ethan’s face before he has a chance to forget it. Which is bullshit – if Will can remember useless details like the milkman’s face from when he was five, he can sure as hell remember his lover’s face. He knows this objectively, all of it.  


It’s just the emotional part that’s getting to him.

He supposes part of it is the huge jump from locking away all emotions and dismissing them as useless and distracting, to being able to express them and recognizing that they’re not the devil’s work after all. He still maintains that on a job they tend to get in the way, and that his cold, clinical approach to problems is always going to be more helpful than panicking and yelling and blowing shit up, but he’s not going to ever deny that sometimes it’s good to do just that. Panic, and yell, and blow shit up. God knows he’s done it enough times.

It just… sucks, to borrow a word from Jane. All of it sucks ass. Now there are too many goddamn emotions and no Ethan to help him deal with them, or even to acknowledge his expression of them. What’s the point of being happy, or sad, or angry, or anything, if there’s no one around to see it, to tell him _I understand you, I support you, I acknowledge your feelings as valid_?

No one really did that until Ethan, and no one’s doing it now that he’s not here. So Will just keeps himself calm, stays in control of the situation, and does what he’s always done – predicting bad things before they can happen, and handling them appropriately. Minimal outward displays of emotion other than what is socially necessary, he tells himself. There is no point in moping.

* * *

By the thirteenth month, he’s worn himself out with this rule, and he expresses his building frustration by breaking the shit out of everything he can reach. Then he sits down on Ethan’s side of the bed, surveys the wreckage of what used to be their bedroom, and sighs heavily.  


“Well,” he says out loud. “That’s gonna be a fun cleaning job.”

He spends the rest of the day cleaning up, taking care not to cut himself on the broken glass from the photo frames only because if he didn’t, he’s pretty sure Ethan would bitch him out for it. “Take care of yourself” this and “don’t get hurt” that… and goddamn, Will misses it so much it’s a deep ache in his chest that won’t go away, something chronic that he’s afraid might become terminal if it goes on too long.

So he works quietly, salvaging what he can and replacing the rest, and hums Ethan’s favorite songs under his breath almost without realizing he’s doing it. He almost feels better.

* * *

The fifteenth month is July, and by now Will’s developed a deep-seated, illogical hatred for deep cover missions. The next time someone drops by their house and asks one of them to do one of the thrice-damned things, Will’s just going to shut the door in their face and reinforce his refusal with his favorite set of Ka-Bars if need be. He’s out of practice anyway.  


It’s been so fucking long since Ethan left. Will wishes he’d have stopped him, even as he knows he never would have. They love each other, but the bigger picture is… well, bigger. It always has been. They agree on that. The world comes first. That is their job, and it could supersede their personal lives and desires any time.

It’s just that Will is afraid of what he’ll choose if presented with the options of saving Ethan, or the world.

* * *

He gets called into the Secretary’s office, the Tuesday of the first week of the eighteenth month. “We’re extending the mission,” the Secretary says, and it takes all of Will’s self-restraint not to scream, deck the man in the face, or both.  


“Okay,” he says, as professional as he can manage, when all he wants to do is close his eyes and sleep until Ethan comes back.

When he gets home he goes straight to bed without bothering to undress, feeling too numb to care, and doesn’t wake up till the next day.

* * *

It’s been two years. Ethan should be home by now. Ethan should’ve been home months ago.  


Will’s done giving himself deadlines, thinking things like “he’ll be back by the end of this month” every month. He’s done doing silly illogical things like thinking “if I spend four hours at the shooting range today he’ll come back this week” or “if I complete five missions this month he’ll come back by the end of it”. He’s done arguing with the Secretary, he’s done breaking things, he’s done with _everything_.

If one didn’t know him, it would seem he’s gone back to his old self, pre-Ethan – quiet, self-possessed, never a moment when he’s not in control. No emotions whatsoever, nothing under the calm exterior. Just an analyst doing his job so well that it’s all there is to him.

There’s nothing to describe the constant stormy sea raging inside him, though, nothing that can come close to defining the way he feels. There is still hope, yes, there always will be, but there is also fatigue and world-weariness and abject loneliness and desolation, and most of all, the most pervading, persistent, _fear_. Fear that Ethan’s not coming home, that Will’s going to be alone forever, that Will’s going to get used to it. Still, he doesn’t expect anyone else to understand, so he keeps it to himself and goes about business as usual.

Today, that’s the mystery of the Beatles.

He puts his book down – it’s not like he can focus on it anyway, not without his brain reminding him how awfully strange it is not to have Ethan’s solid presence with him on the couch – and contemplates the radio. It’s a newer model, with a digital display and buttons instead of dials, and USB slots and an AUX jack. There is no antenna. Will wonders if it’s hackable, and then decides almost immediately that it probably is. What isn’t, these days?

He changes the channel, and catches the tail end of some overplayed, overhyped and probably annoying Christmas song. He waits a few moments, but the next song is another Christmas carol, and so he changes channels again.

This one is playing the Beatles too. He waits for the song to end, and then plays close attention to the radio jockey… who begins a conversation about mall Santas. Well and truly suspicious now, Will changes the channel yet again.

A Christmas carol, then another. Then a Beatles song… and yet another mall Santa discussion.

And it’s all the same Beatles song.

Either there is a serious glitch in his radio – doubtful, but he likes to consider all options – or someone’s hacked into it and is looping last week’s segment for whatever reason. Will wonders why anyone would want to do that – to annoy him, perhaps? But this is far too elaborate to be a prank, and besides – to pull off something of this extent would require intimate knowledge of Will, of his favorite music and what radio channels he listens to.

And the frequencies saved on this particular portable radio, a Christmas gift from Ethan from three years ago.

Which brings him to his conclusion – that yes, he’s being hacked, and he has a fairly solid idea who’s doing it.

Exhibit A – the radio. A gift from Ethan, and one that Ethan knows and uses – used – frequently before his departure. He knows the channels on it, knows which ones to get into.

Exhibit B – the timing. It’s almost Christmas, and Will’s been getting more and more isolated with each passing day, not talking to anyone or doing anything outside of work. It’s always been the hardest time of the year for him, especially if he has to spend it alone. A burst of familiarity, then, would be most welcome.

And finally, Exhibit C – the song itself. Will’s been listening to the Beatles for as long as he can remember, has always loved them like any normal person in the English-speaking world, but despite loving a lot of their music, only has one favorite that he loves the most. And that’s what’s been playing on the radio all day.

There is a sudden sunburst of warmth in his chest, and he finds himself quite unexpectedly close to tears. He’s smiling, though, as he regards the radio sitting on the coffee table in front of him. It almost feels like Ethan’s here, somehow erases the fact of his absence and makes it look like he’s gone merely to get groceries or perhaps dinner. It feels like home, for the first time in two years.

_As I write this letter  
Send my love to you  
Remember that I'll always  
Be in love with you_

He presumes it was played sometime during the last week, and Ethan managed to catch it on the radio and record it. Perhaps – no, _definitely_ – it reminded him of Will, and possibly gave him an idea, a way to communicate with Will without breaking the terms of the mission (one of which is the stupid fucking rule about contact that Will hates even more for being right). So Ethan probably found himself a free moment and sat down and looped it to play occasionally on every frequency that Will tunes in to.

(Absently Will wonders if the radio stations even know they’re being hacked, and then decides he doesn’t care.)

_I'll be coming home again to you, love  
And till the day I do, love  
P.S. I love you  
You, you, you_

Ethan’s safe, and alive, and remembers him. And most importantly, _he’s coming home soon_. The knowledge fills Will up with hope again, makes him smile for the first time in months and months, so wide he feels like he might pull a muscle in his face. Part of him wants to cry from relief, while another part wants to shout it to the world, tell everyone that Ethan’s coming home, that they’ll be together and he won’t be so alone ever again.

He does neither of these two things – instead, he gets up and goes over to the Christmas tree, sad and droopy in its corner, and begins dusting it off. There are ornaments somewhere in the back of the storage closet, and he thinks that if he goes out tonight he can get groceries, restock the fridge that’s been sitting empty ever since he gave up on food and began living exclusively off take-out. Maybe he can get a Welcome Home sign to stick to the front door. He rejects that last thought, though – too presumptive, despite all the signs, and the last thing he needs right now is false hope.

Still, false hope or not, he’s got enough to rejuvenate him, keep him going, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he finds himself thinking _maybe if I finish decorating today, he’ll come home by the end of the week._

* * *

Ethan arrives home in the dead of the night, nine days after Will noticed the radio looping the Beatles. He carries nothing but a duffel bag containing his weapons, and two years’ worth of fatigue and loneliness. The lights are out, and he’s sure Will’s asleep.  


All he wants to do is run inside and wake Will up, see him for the first time in two years, kiss him and hold him and hear his voice, but he can’t. Even now, he can’t bring himself to disturb Will’s sleep, and so quietly, he lets himself into the house.

Silently he places his duffel bag by his feet, resolving to pick it up later, and makes his way through the night-dark corridors of his home. There is no sound except for the low tones of music audible from upstairs, and he feels affection wash over him at the idea that Will fell asleep listening to the radio, like he’s done on countless nights in their relationship. Maybe Will was even thinking of him.

He makes his way upstairs, his tiredness held temporarily at bay only by his anticipation. The house is exactly as he left it, not a thing out of place, and for a minute or so, he lets himself think that he wasn’t gone long at all. Not two years, but maybe two days. Two hours. Something like that.

He loves Will for it, because he knows that this is exactly why Will – serial interior decorator – has changed nothing.

Their bedroom door is ajar and there is soft light spilling out into the hallway, and Ethan remembers the glow of the lamps on their side-tables. Even those haven’t changed in anyway, going by the light being exactly how he remembers it. As stealthily as he can, he pushes the door open just enough for him to be able to slip inside, his heart beating rapidly at the thought of turning to find Will, to lay eyes on him—

His thoughts freeze in their tracks when he registers the song that’s playing on the radio – _P.S. I Love You_ – and he smiles to himself. He can only imagine how it must’ve gotten Will through the nine days between him first looping it, and now. Suddenly all he wants to do is get in bed with Will and stay there forever, never letting him go, never leaving his side—

Will, who’s not actually asleep at all, just sitting up in bed and looking at him in disbelief, eyes wide and impossibly blue.

Suddenly Ethan can’t move, can’t do anything but stare back, perfectly aware that his mouth is open but unable to give a shit about how idiotic he must look. Will’s right _here_ , he’s _awake_ , and even though he’s lost weight and has dark circles under his eyes, even though he looks pale and his hair is disheveled from the pillow, he looks like the most beautiful thing Ethan’s ever laid eyes on.

“Hey,” he manages to choke out, his voice trembling.

It breaks the vacuum; Will puts down the book he was reading and scrambles out of bed, striding up to Ethan and embracing him, holding him so tightly it’s almost painful. “Fuck,” he says weakly, breath trembling as it ghosts over Ethan’s ear and neck, “ _fuck_ , you’re real, you’re home—”

Ethan hugs him back just as tightly, pressing his face into Will’s neck and breathing in deeply, the clean and pure scent of soap, honey, and _home_. Will feels entirely too thin in his arms and Ethan knows he’s going to worry about this at some point, but for now all he can do is hold on to him and press kisses into his skin, his jawline, his hair, and say, “Yeah, I’m home,” as if those three words could ever be enough.

“I waited for fucking _ever_ ,” Will says, not letting go of him, his hands clutching the back of Ethan’s sweater. “Two goddamn years, _Jesus_ , Ethan—”

“I know,” whispers Ethan, resting their foreheads together. He closes his eyes. “I know, oh _God_ —”

“I missed you so much.” Will’s voice is controlled as always, but Ethan can hear the underlying emotion as clear as he always has been able to.

“I missed you too,” he replies, and he’s tearing up a little, but he doesn’t care. His heart feels so full right now he’s actually afraid it might explode, unable to contain all of what he’s feeling. “I’m never going away again,” he promises, and he means it. Yeah, the world comes first blah blah blah, but this time, he thinks, it can suck it. It couldn’t ever hope to match up to the feeling of being with Will, having him in his arms.

“Fuck, yeah,” says Will fervently, his voice shaky, and then he does the most miraculous thing, and laughs, his breath warm on Ethan’s face. It’s the unsteady laugh that finally causes the levee to break, and the tears spill over, and dimly Ethan realizes Will is crying a little too.

Fuck it, he thinks, so what if they’re both crying. At least they’re doing it together, _at least they’re together_.

So he leans in and kisses Will, tastes him for the first time in years and finds to his delight that it is also still the same, still simultaneously insatiable thirst and slaking water. Still honey and lemon and Will, still something he’ll always get lost in and find himself with.

Still home.

* * *

_He’s home._   


**Author's Note:**

> Comment and let me know what you thought of it! Alternately - or additionally - drop by my [tumblr](chesterbennington.co.vu) and say hi!
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


End file.
